


RADIOHEAD

by Silver_Dipstick



Category: Doom (Video Games)
Genre: Angst, Canon-Typical Violence, Doom, Doom Eternal, Eventual Smut, F/M, Female Reader, Flirting, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Slowish burn but I'm impatient, Tension, bending canon just a little with timing, get ready for days of rapid posting then radio silence, im sorry, just so i can drag out cannon a little, please god help me this is my new hyperfixation, reader runs a radio show, there are five hell preists now
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-02
Updated: 2021-01-04
Packaged: 2021-03-12 04:01:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 12,900
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28504143
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Silver_Dipstick/pseuds/Silver_Dipstick
Summary: After a very lucky escape during the first onslaught of the Hell sent apocalypse that soon promises changes the entire Earth forever, you find yourself safe trapped inside an abandoned nuclear bunker. Safe, yet isolated. With no other people or way to contact the outside world, what do you do to stave off the isolation and boredom? Start a one man radio show of course! When a certain Doom Slayer is resurrected and takes interest in your show, who knows what will happen. With pressure mounting from all sides as our resident Doom Hunk makes his way through the hordes of demons, what do people like Dr. Samuel Hayden and the Khan Makyr, or organisations like ARC and UAC want with you?! Guess you'll just have to read...
Relationships: Doom Slayer | Doomguy/Reader, Doom Slayer | Doomguy/You
Comments: 29
Kudos: 100





	1. Prologue - Safety

**Author's Note:**

> This first chapter is merely a prologue for what's to come - enjoy!

The Walkman was an odd device in a world full of technological advances so great that even the most profound scholars from fifty years ago could not anticipate. Once the Aregentian warriors and colonisers arrived on Earth, taking strongholds across the land, and spreading their word of the Makyr, of divinity, technology had taken a leap like never before seen in human history. It made technology such as the Walkman (which in and of itself was fading into obscurity before their new overlords’ arrival) in the young woman’s hand completely obsolete. Luckily, it was not too hard to operate the archaic technology and soon the sweet sound of heavy metal was blasting through the connected headphones as she started her daily clean.

Life was very simple, well definitely as simple and calm as one could get in the middle of a literal apocalypse from Hell. Wake up, then clean herself up, rationed breakfast. Maybe clean up a little and do some art; or if she was feeling more adventurous, explore. Today she was feeling rather adventurous, and pining for new supplies, but she had made quite the mess last night in fixing up her new passion project that should probably be cleaned up before she left the safety of her living areas. The rest of her base of operations wasn’t actually particularly dangerous considering the state of the rest of the world either. Equalling the safety of any UAC base to be sure. She was almost completely safe inside – in what was probably the most safe and comfortable place left on Earth, aside from herself and her isolation, and the only downfall was the fact that she was completely and utterly surrounded by demons. Hordes of them. They swarmed the area above her underground base in droves, literally thousands of them: imps, cacodemons, spectres, marauders, you name them, they were there. And funnily enough – she was completely safe from them as long as she stayed inside. Even if they knew she was there, which she was pretty sure they didn’t, they would have a pretty hard time getting to her and might not even bother. So there she was, finishing the last of her sweeping, small metal shavings finally making their way into the bin, surrounded by monsters from hell at all angles. And how she got there? Well that’s quite the story…


	2. Stargazing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Welcome to Earth! Oh wait... Hell? Starting off before cannon, (and bending it just a little), follow as y/n becomes traumatised by my own hand (better than dead I guess?), and the DOOMSLAYER awakens...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is more expositionary - and written from an odd perspective. Setting up the back story so we can get into the good stuff >:D

“Good Evening everyone, and welcome to today’s episode of RADIOHEAD, I’m your host, and today I have a very special story to share with you! Some loyal listeners may know that today is the one year anniversary of this radio broadcast show. For anyone newly joining us, or anyone in need of a refresher, RADIOHEAD is the daily radio broadcast by yours truly, airing everyday at 5pm GMT. Topics of conversation include everything from stargazing to how many tacos I can fit in my mouth…” chuckling to herself as she continues, reflecting briefly on the true reason for RADIOHEAD’s continued existence, “And today I have a story time for you. Usually I only have a story time every Friday, but as it’s a special occasion you can have a double dose.”

While she was more than happy to tell her stories of what life had been like… before, she was still a little reluctant to share those bits of herself more than once a week, mainly keeping to her daily activities or funny little jokes she’d thought up. Just casual thing, maybe some drawings she was working on. That was the point of RADIOHEAD, outside of something to keep the starving isolation away. It was hope. Or at least she hoped it was hope. Radios were still commonly used for communication, given how stubborn radios and radio waves were, and easy to fix up the apocalypse – and she should know as it had taken her a while to fix up a transmitter to get her show up and running. It was her hope to bring a little bit of joy to others, if there were any others left, with just a bit of normalcy. She thought too much reminiscing of the past and what they could no longer have might be too painful, and she had no idea what was happening outside of the little bunker she had quite happily hunkered down in, so casual talk and chitchat it was.

What about those fabled hardy radio waves? Surely if she fixed up a transmitter, she should be able to get a receiver up and running, surely there would be other resistance groups able to share some news with her, hope, human contact… And well, you wouldn’t be wrong, except you are. While engineering wasn’t her strong suit, she did have the capacity for basic soldering and the like, with the issue being that when she came across the tech in her bunker, both the transmitter **and** the receiver were broken; and much to her chagrin she could only fix one. If only she could find some more supplies, maybe the lower levels… _no, not yet_. Regardless, there was no time to ponder, she had a story to tell.

“I was 17 at the time, eons ago, I know,” another chortle escaped, “And quite the looker for my age too. Managed to snag myself a nice boy at least, rugged and handsome, proper bad boy with a soft heart – you know the type. Anyway, where was I? Oh yeah, 17, middle of summer going on a date. He wouldn’t tell me where we were going, simply told me to grab around his waist and hold tight as we zipped away on his ‘rebuilt’ motorbike. I say ‘rebuilt’ only because it was on the verge of falling apart again. Forget feeling scared about going to an unknown location with my boyfriend of two weeks without telling anyone, simply getting on that death trap is enough to send shivers down my spine, even to this day! So yeah, we zoomed away, the air was warm at least and not biting too harshly against my face, and I mean seriously, what were either of us thinking? That death trap plus no helmets was just begging for trouble. Sorry, gone on a tangent again, I always seem to get carried away whenever I talk about that darn motorbike. Anyway, it was nice, romantic, sun was just starting to set as we pulled into the fairground. Yeah, a fairground, cliché I know, but cute none the less. We even did all the typical things, playing games, eating corndogs, smashing each other in bumper cars even though were way to old,” a soft sigh escapes her lips, maybe limiting to one story a week wasn’t just to stop others from focussing on a now painful past, “He won me a toy too, took him ages mind you, but it was one of those big plushies, a cute turtle that was pink, weird but adorable. We grabbed a huge stick of galaxy themed candyfloss with enough sugar to make a dentist cry, then he grabbed my hand and we ran. Not far mind you, just enough to get out of the crowd as we sat down on the grass. The light and cool air of the night intoxicating us; and we stuffed handfuls of the stars into our mouths. That moment neither of us had a care in the world, I remember that it seemed as if time itself had almost stopped as we stared at each other. Nothing sexual or romantic, at least not in that moment, just a moment of blissful togetherness, us against the world. We sat like that for a while.”

She took the moment for a rather pregnant pause, collecting herself. The good thing about this show was that at least she had learnt to talk while also crying silently. Not that she missed the guy, he ended up being an asshole, she just missed what was, what she used to have.

“Then we both stood up, sugar clearly taking affect, and raced back. More rides and shooting games. I narrowly avoided being handed off a new pet fish that would have been consumed by my cat within seconds of me getting home, and he was nearly thrown up of by an abnormally large seven year old who definitely did not have an affinity for rollercoasters. But with no disasters we made it there, to the seemingly undisputed cliché of fairground dates: the Ferris Wheel. After a record braking fast queue time we managed to snag a little booth to ourselves too, another cliché, but that may have been more to do with him giving the operator a small bribe and getting a cheeky wink in return while he thought my back was turned. But we got a booth, holding hands and staring into the nights sky as our breath began making little wisps in the air. The sun had long since set, and that gave him the opportunity to take off his leather and drape them around me, once again, mother of all cliches, but this one was decidedly nice as it was actually getting rather cold out. It dwarfed me a little, even then I was smaller than most, but it smelt of him, him and his ridiculous cologne. But leaning into him and his hands wrapped around me, life just seemed so perfect. We stopped at the top. Nothing but the heavens above us – cool air whipped around us, sending hair and clothes around us into nothing short of perfect disarray. We both leaned forward, he tilted his head, and became so thoroughly pained and disgusted, but before I could even voice my own confusion… he threw up on me. Glittery sick, everywhere. Thankfully, his coat took most of the damage, but my hair didn’t escape unscathed and it took three showers before the smell truly left me. It was certainly awkward after that at least, he was really apologetic, and I got that it wasn’t his fault, but I _had_ just been thrown up on, and wasn’t in the mood anymore. So we headed back, this time the wind lashed at us in the cold night, and the bike itself even rattled more than usual. So not a fantastic end to what was almost a phenomenal night. But I’ll always remember it I guess, and the stars that night. They seemed to defy nature itself, or more specifically night pollution. That’s the one thing I really miss. The stars.” Another pause, now for the easy bit, where she could pull herself together after that particularly hard story. Gods she missed the stars.

She began again, “And now, for the weather:” Break My Stride by Matthew Wilder began to softly play from a plugin to the transmitter. That was one thing she really loved. Instead of playing a song or two from the collections down in the bunker normally, she replaced the weather segment that would normally play on a news radio segment with a song. She had remembered that from a podcast she used to listen to, and it was particularly fitting here, especially since she didn’t know the weather anymore. It had been little over a fully year she’d been down here, in a literal government nuclear bunker. One of the deepest, largest, well stocked bunkers with access to enough nukes to ensure total nuclear annihilation for the whole world. No contact with the outside world. If she didn’t have the capacity to sometimes hear them, _the demons_ , when all was quiet, you might have been able to convince her that it was all over, the Hell outside merely a figment of her imagination, a far off dream, a nightmare. But it most certainly wasn’t.

* * *

The day it all started seemed like a dream. A massive portal opening in the sky, much the same as the way the Sentinels arrived, but oh so very different. Instead of a light and comforting blue hue, a deep crimson riot crashed above the sky, moments later a huge pod dropped out, landing in Central Europe, the beginning to what would later be dubbed as the ‘Super Gore Nest’. Then came the demons. Unspeakable and indescribable monsters from what must surely be the worst pits of hell. Their unholy screeching and burning flesh, rotting and decaying before their very eyes, but even the small ones proved a challenge for the Earth’s militia. Let alone the titans. Accordingly, the Night Sentinels fought across the galaxy, but it wasn’t enough. They fell, and so did the Earth.

But she knew none of this. Nothing past the first day and even then, information was scarce. She remembered waking up to her father sitting downstairs, annoyed at some _damn hoax_ on the news. Yawning, she made her way downstairs, clad in flannel pyjamas and little bunny slippers to combat the cold kitchen’s unyielding tiles. Coffee began to brew in the battered machine, it had sustained many years of abuse from the house’s resident coffee addicts, which happened to be everyone in the small family of three: father, daughter, and son. And their cat, Whiskey, of course. Sounds of horrific screaming, gunshots and sheer demonic screeching were crackling from the tv in the front room, with the sliver of screen that could be seen through the ajar door displaying a sight that would remain be burned into her brain when she thought back on that day. Replaying again, and again, and again. She too, had thought it to be a hoax. Demons from Hell? No way.

So she ate her lacklustre breakfast, slightly stale cereal if you must know, and decided to head out into the world. The were only a few small clouds in the sky that floated lazily by in the mid-morning breeze. A small walk the woods would rekindle her artistic flare, she mused, not thinking too hard of the visions of this morning’s news.

The woods themselves weren’t too far out from her house, she had always gone to play there with her brother when they were younger, these days it was less a fantastical playground but a place of refuge. No devices for her, no responsibilities, nothing. Just calm. Birdsong still flitted through the trees as she meandered down the path she’d beaten, and wouldn’t vary too much from until she got a little deeper. The forest wasn’t often walked in bar a few locals, you’d expect more throughfare for somewhere so beautiful. With a river that sparkled and huge old trees, perfect, in her opinion. But she could see what scared them off. There was something else, deeper into the forest, lurking with an ominous presence. It was easy enough to ignore once you were in the trees, and it didn’t seem to tower over you, to dominate you, always watching.

She never knew what drew her there that day – only that it had saved her life for sure. There was an ominous buzzing and loud bangs as she grew closer, the kind of thing that would deter people, send them away. Rightly so. Pushing through the underbrush she came across The Fence. It was a place she remembered well, but hadn’t been in the years since her brother stopped coming with her. The Fence was huge, and loomed over her, topped with barbed wire, and warnings plastering the huge concrete pillars evert few metres **CAUTION: LIVE WIRE .** Despite the warnings it wasn’t that well maintained. The place itself was a deterrent enough, and it had constant guards, but these days, only a skeleton crew to watch over it.

Inside the foreboding fence that had fascinated her and her brother as children (in hindsight not the safest place to play), was what could be described as a behemoth, a steel wonderland that rose up from the ashes of where a forest used to stand. It was a bunker, a backup of a last resort for their leaders. Layers unseen beneath the earth, housing computers and tech, nuclear codes, stockpiles of everything you might need for the apocalypse. It was as she peered through the fence that the alarm sounded. It was a horrible wail that pierced the air. A test maybe? She thought, and well whatever it was, she hoped it was over quickly. It was a bone-chilling sound that seemed too loud, pumping adrenaline into her veins at an alarming rate. Something was wrong, so wrong, wrong, wrong. And then she saw. Swarms of heavily armed troopers, surrounding the building then systematically entering. A few staying behind to guard a group of huddled people – scared people, whispering in hushed tones that she couldn’t hear from this distance. And even though all the soldiers left seemed on edge, they hadn’t noticed her in the shrubbery yet, too close to the fence for any guard to be comfortable with on ordinary occasion, let alone whatever was happening here.

Not many knew that the fence was useless, broken, unless of course you’d spent most of your life in the forest. One December morning she’d gone out to play with her brother when they’d discovered a stray dog deep in the woods. Being the still fearless children that they were, when it had run off they gave chase. Tumbling deeper into the forest until the dog was backed against the fence. And it had run straight into it, before bouncing off and sprinting into the trees again. This time the curious children did not follow. The fence hadn’t hurt the dog. And they were confused. While this wasn’t the stretch of fence they were most familiar with, being fairly far from home and round the back of the building, which according to her brother was far less interesting that the front for some reason, the rest of the fence was **definitely** electrified. As they got closer, however, it didn’t hum in the same way the other sections did. After a few minutes of debate her decidedly idiot brother simply stuck his hand to the metal and surprisingly wasn’t shocked. Huh. The electricity had gone down in that section of fence, clearly. They never told anyone.

A few years later, a small tree had fallen down in the same place, putting a hole in the dense fence. It was small enough for them the squeeze through now, but definitely not for a fully grown adult. They’d dared each other to go through, and eventually they both did, but not for more than a couple of steps each, scared of being caught despite the fact that the place was practically a ghost town. They never told anyone.

Maybe she’d be dead if they had.

As she scooted forward, right up to the fence, hearing the humming almost against her cheek and still shrouded in the bush around her, that was when she heard. And she was thankful she’d jerked backwards instead of forwards into the fence when she’d head the screams. The soldiers came pouring out again, but they were pointing guns at something, something else she couldn’t see on the other side of the facility and fence. Over the sound of rapid gunfire and orders and the people moved to go inside the building, she couldn’t hear them either. But she could hear behind her. Far behind her, thankfully.

Fight or flight? Flight.

Everything seemed to slow. It ambled towards her, stumbling a little and groaning. It was grotesque, like nothing she’d seen before, monstrous, demonic, hell-like. Which was exactly what it was. Despite already being riddle with bullets it stalked towards her, unrelenting and out for blood. Hers. Then time seemed to speed up again. Too quickly. She ran, much like the wild dog in years gone by, and it gave chase.

Crashing through thorns and shrubs, not feeling their sting or cuts she ran for what seemed a marathon before she got there, the Hole. It was hot on her tail, not perturbed by the rambunctious chase she’d taken _it_ on. She suspected. In hindsight, that the only reason she’d been ahead was her knowledge of the forest, of the terrain and pure adrenaline. Adrenaline was a powerful drug that if paired with proper motivation could push humans to do unthinkable feats.

_Lucky_. She had thought. So lucky. The hole was not made large enough for an ordinary human, but she knew the way it twisted and she was also small, even for a twenty year old woman. She had never seen her height and stature as such a blessing before, and she would never curse it again.

Pushing her way through she burst out the other side, just in time and its meaty claw was beginning to close around her exposed ankle. Bursting out into another dead sprint towards the back of the building she heard the metal itself groan and buckle behind her. It wouldn’t hold against the hell beast for long.

Still pumped with adrenaline she climbed a ladder the back, praying for a ventilation shaft, anything on the roof. The fence had been torn from its posts now – it was coming. There was no shaft on the roof, but she moved to the middle hiding and praying.

It worked. There was screaming and tearing from the front of the building, the smell of burning flesh festering. It was truly horrific; she could smell it from all the way up top. No one had survived, evidently, and it seemed the mindless demon and gone round to the front once it had entered to kill alongside its brethren. It seemed not one had fallen, even to the might of such heavily armed soldiers working in unison.

She could hear when they entered the building, ripping the door off its hinges, then new screams, fainter this time. People had made it inside evidently. Not for long. And she could hear, hours later, as they left. Some staying in the area, some heading towards the town. Adrenaline was still relentlessly pumping through her, but she couldn’t move, not even blink. It was as though she had completely frozen, even her breathing only coming out in shallow puffs. The alarm still blared, just as haunting as when it had first started. It didn’t seem to bother the demons. She still didn’t move.

She stayed like that for hours, even as the sun began to set and the cold began to eat into her, from both the inactivity of her muscles and the darkness beginning to eat at her. It was then, just as the sun had truly set and the world became shrouded in a darkness still more inviting that the darkness lurking beneath her, that a choir joined the alarm that was still piercing the now still air. Enthralling and dark, thrumming and calling in ancient tongues she had no knowledge of; the demons turned and ran into the night. She didn’t move.

It was fifteen minutes later that her brain seemed to understand that her body couldn’t stay there – that she needed to move. Her body moved, but she wasn’t really there, it was as though everything had swallowed her whole, her mind unable to comprehend the beasts, or the death, or anything really. But the thumped back towards the ladder and clumsily slid down, trembling. Walking around to the front in a daze, she could breathe now, and the needed to see to know –

She didn’t. She’d rather she hadn’t. The bodies had been left to fester in the summer’s sun, and while on the roof she paid it no mind, she did now. The smell was wrong, not what you’d expect it to smell like, but somehow infinitely worse. The bodies themselves were strewn in no order, a mess, literally torn apart. She doubted even a forensic team could decipher whose limbs belonged to whom. The once dusty courtyard had turned into a pool of bright blood, already turning a deep brown in places. Some bodies, she noted in her daze, seemed to faintly glow, mostly those with armour, _the soldiers_ , her mind supplied, with light and unusual runes beginning to etch into their foreheads.

It was only a moments pause before she pushed on, _safety_ , her mind screamed at her, pushing her towards the open bunker, the iron door ripped off its hinges by some unholy strength. As she reached the slight dip into the blood pool, booted foot sinking into it. _Thicker than water. Blood is thicker than water_ , her mind supplied to her addled brain again. The squelching did nothing to bring her out of her stupor as she lumbered onwards. Nor did the clots of blood that had started to congeal. Even as a particularly large patch made her slip, hands first right unto a body. Her hand pushed right through the unidentifiable body’s ribcage, giving no resistance past a sickening snap, and into whatever internal organs were left inside. She pulled her hands out, taking a deep, shaky breath, and moved on. No time for that now, she’d break later.

Once she had made it through the door, and could see inside, she noted that it too, was littered with bodies. Blood and guts on the floor, walls, ceiling, doors, nothing was spared. She took more careful steps over them, and moved on.

The next few floors down were wrecked. Wires and technology replacing blood and gore. And then the bodies were back. This time in a room full of computer terminals, but she pressed on, alarm pulsing in her head feverishly now, too loud to think anyway. Down again, more wrecked property, no bodies. Down again, deceptively clean, rows and rows of doors. She opened one. A bedroom? She trudged over, collapsed, and fell asleep. She didn’t hear the demons return only minutes later, and for that, she could be glad.

* * *

The song was almost at and end, and she had managed to wipe her tears and grab a drink before she pressed on, after all; _the show must go on!_ “I had a weird dream the other night, and my cat was in it too. We were somewhere snowy, deep in the mountains I think,” she pushed right back into it, not even acknowledging the end of the weather segment, “but it was nice. We were staying in a big hotel; it was called the Overlook? I can’t really remember much, just useless little detail that only exist in a dream, creepy rooms, a maze that seemed bigger inside than out, usual dream stuff. But then, as I went outside into the snow with my kitty, and we laid down, he started talking. He taught me the constellations, I mean, I already know them all, but it was nice. Speaking of stars and constellations, I’ve started making a projector. A little project of mine. It’s basically a metal ball with a light inside that projects the nights sky and constellations onto your ceiling. If you’ve been a listener for a long time you’ll already know how much I love the stars, but this project has been a bit annoying in that I’m trying to improve it with my limited engineering skills and fairly shoddy soldering.” Taking a deep breath she continues, this is easier its daily life, its calm, its nice, its refreshing, “But I want it to move, I want it to spin slowly, mirror the constellations, and that requires a lot more work than I thought it was going to, to be quite honest. But it should be nice once I’ve done, kinda like one of those nightlights you use as a kid, ya know?” speaking into the air, she puffed, “Or maybe you don’t know, I was always afraid of the dark as a kid, but I guess a lot of people are a lot braver than I am, I don’t think my brother ever needed one.”

She rambled on for a bit more, talking about her meals and how she made them, another failed attempt at soufflé, and what type of music she had listened to. Just the idle chatter that humans needed, normalcy, the pure simplicity of everyday life. All to quickly the hour was up, “Well that’s it for today folk, tune in tomorrow, 5pm GMT! Goodnight, sleep well everyone.”

The recording shut off, and she slumped back into her chair. They always tired her out, speaking into the air, not knowing if there even was anyone alive on the outside to listen, but in the end, it was always worth it. Just in case.

* * *

Meanwhile, just as she was falling asleep, curled up and alone, another entity was just waking up. Who?

The **DOOMSLAYER.**

**and he was ready to RIP AND TEAR.**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well that is the setup done at least - the perspective will become a lot more 'normal' now, I swear. Next chapter there will be more Doomguy too - I promise. 
> 
> Im probably gonna end up making a spotify playlist for 'The Weather' segment, but for now:  
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=B4c_SkROzzo - Break My Stride
> 
> There are five references to other fandoms/franchises, well done if you got any!


	3. Showers & Shrapnel

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Finally an update on Doomguy and his 'introduction' to you, Vega being tortured, and some bad news for your little project.

When the almighty Doom Slayer awakens from his, _peaceful_ , slumber (curtesy of Dr. Samuel Hayden of course), Vega manages to very quickly catch him up to speed. News reels, key information, location of the first Hell Priest he needs to kill in order to end literal Hell on Earth until its irreversible. And then its time to kick some demon ass.

* * *

It’s a slow awakening for y/n, cracking her back and twisting until she was more comfortable, spending as long in bed as she liked, as it wasn’t as if she actually had to do anything for hours yet. There were no rules, nothing was stopping her. Like her massive bed, made from three single beds pulled together into the larger communal living space she’d made into her room. It’s not as if she lived with anyone to stop her.

When she’d first arrived, she’d just slumped onto the bed, collapsing with exhaustion from the nightmare of a day she’d had. And even when she’d woken up a day later, she still struggled to believe it was real. Neither the coppery smell of fried circuitry nor stench of rotting corpses on the upper levels had permeated down to her level yet, and the entire situation seemed to ludicrous, too insane to comprehend in a single night. Nevertheless, she had trudged upstairs, needing fresh air again, almost begging for none of it to be true, just a mere hallucination. After effects of dodgy booze at a party or some other reasonable explanation.

There was none.

There were a few levels to the bunker between her and the carnage, not that she remembered much from the walk down, but she found a very well stocked kitchen, huge and filled with long lasting goods and massive tables. After eating a fair meal just in case there was something in her system, she’d started walking up and up. She’d smelt it before she’d seen it of course, and promptly expelled her breakfast across the corridor. There was no point going up she reasoned, she already knew what was there; there was nothing she could do about it.

It was as she was walking away, back down, still a bit dazed and uncomprehending of the doom the Earth was facing, she heard it. **_Them._** The demons. There had to be hundreds , buzzing, groaning, all sorts of noises emanating from far above her but to be so loud, from so far away… and so horrifying. There had to be hundreds, maybe thousands surrounding the facility. So it was decided… you were never leaving.

It wasn’t easy at first, but after a lot of grieving and wondering, you started to fall into a habit. You had to have lucked out, a fully stocked back up of a backup of an underground nuclear bunker. Loads of room, food, and beds. Clothes were fairly abundant, and you had been ecstatic to discover the recreational area only a floor down from the communal living room the eventually claimed as just your room. It had instruments, art supplies (a big jackpot for you) , and music. Music helped you in more ways than one. The collection was so extensive, and in every genre that you had to wonder if it was part of a conservation project or something. The music helped keep you sane, helped drown out the creepy alarms that still droned on in the deeper levels you had tried to explore but been creeped out to (Seriously – red flashing lights, apocalypse alarm, locked doors, that was horror movie material and there was enough horror movie material above ground to last you a lifetime); it helped you fall asleep, and when in the middle of the night the demon chorus above you wailed, it kept their screams at bay. So yeah, music was a good find for you.

After exploring you started to build, after all if you were going to be stuck down there alone for who knows how long, it could at least be comfy. So you took the time to drag beds together in the living area, make art, strung lights and make the place as homely as you could. It was actually fun too! No controlling dad telling you how to live your life or brother mocking your very existence. You tried not to focus on the negatives. _They were probably dead. Or if not, fighting to survive in the hellscape above you, wondering if you were dead or alive, worrying. Yet here you are. Safe. Surrounded. Caged._ Despite the reason you were trapped, and all that stood against you, the place had grown on you, at least you were miraculously safe. 

Then came the domestics, cooking and cleaning as the main objectives. Cleaning was fine, there were plenty of supplies after all, but cooking was a whole different matter. You really couldn’t live off strange ramen noodles forever, you would have to cook with some of the other stored foods eventually, despite your subpar culinary skills. A pang in your chest reminded you of your brother, was he okay?... Probably not. _DEAD!_ The guilty voice in your head happily provided you with the most probable answer to his condition. He always loved to cook, while you were happy to sit back and nibble at the ingredients while he scolded you. But with time, you would learn, you would become the Master Chef.

You picked everything up surprisingly quickly, and while a lot of things became boring quickly, you had settled into a good routine, and before you knew it a month had passed. That’s when you started scavenging. You had made it into your local college taking up a degree in art, fat lot of good that’d be in the literal Armageddon, but oh well, you’d at least learnt to solder and some basics for a technology in art project. This helped drastically in fixing some of the things that had been torn by the Hell creatures, although your work was far from perfect, and a lot ended up as scrap or deemed as unsavable – by your hand at least.

You had found two treasures, however, about a month and a half in, both drastically damaged, but maybe, just maybe, one could be saved. A radio receiver, and a radio transmitter. One could be saved to get any possible news of the outside world, what was happening, maybe your family, friends, town or country. Some reassurance that human life lived on and lived strong! To feel less lonely in the cold and abandoned facility that now served as your home.

It was selfish. You felt selfish.

You wanted it so badly, craving that human voice and interaction directed at you – news of something, anything that was going on outside of your isolation.

But it felt so,, wrong. You had your music, it wasn’t the same, but you had it. You have food, art, electricity, a comfy bed, flowing water! You had everything you were sure so many others were dying for right now. You didn’t know why the demons didn’t attack, but you figured at this point they probably would have done so by now. You had stability and a form of freedom. You didn’t mind performing art.

You could provide a hope to those who needed it more than you, in a way that might help more. Sure you couldn’t give any latest resistance updates, or even the weather – but you could give some normalcy, a sense of peace maybe? Just normal, unrushed, unburdened human interaction, maybe some music. Just talk about the little things, no inconsequential that it didn’t matter, let people take their minds off for a minute.

So you gave your chance away, you kept the isolation, held it so close that it burned, but you lit a spark, for you – hope, and maybe for others too.

* * *

The Doom Slayer entered his fortress in a huff. If only the blasted Khan Makyr hadn’t shown herself and teleported the other four away, he could have halted the demonic possession of Earth right then, and been home in time for dinner. But instead his quest would be drawn out.

His helmet clicked off with a hiss as the compressed gas dissipated, roughly shoving it down onto a side table before plopping into his desk chair. “Sir,” Vega’s cool voice spoke out from the hidden speakers in the ceiling, “might I suggest at least taking off your blood soaked armour before defiling the furniture?”

With only a grunt as a reply, he stood up to get the suit off and maybe take a shower. Demon hunting may be his favourite thing in the world, but it did leave his as a rather tousled mess. A 6ft 8, 360lb wall of flesh that was absolutely unyielding in his conquest, but definitely in dire need of a shower and stick of deodorant. As he padded off towards an empty armour podium Vega spoke again, “I am detecting significant levels of tension. Would you like me to put on the radio?”

The Slayer thought for a moment, raising his eyebrow in silent question. He had heard the reports as he exited the portal, demonic consumption was down by about ~20%, there couldn’t be much more that would interest him. Vega continued, “I have detected one radio channel at frequency 24.576 that has been broadcasting for an hour each day, at 357 days old. It is not from a UAC or ARC source, and is virtually untraceable, even I have been unable to pinpoint it in your absence. It focusses on daily life of one woman and stories predating the demonic invasion, there is no mention of the demonic invasion or any plight in general and even has a music break mid-way through. It has been a much loved source of great relief and mystery since its creation, and despite efforts to contact the creator – there has been no such acknowledgement of this to date.”

He stopped in his tracks for a brief moment, that was fairly odd for a radio broadcast in this day and age, and he had nothing to lose. With a single nod he ripped of the rest of his armour and stepping into a waiting shower, putting a dollop of soap into his hand when a sweet female voice crackled to life over the intercom.

“Good Evening everyone, and welcome to the first episode of RADIOHEAD, presented by yours truly!” the voice paused, sounding energised if a little nervous, but cute all the same, the Slayer had forgotten the last time he heard a real, genuine human voice, and it sent a tingle down his spine. But he had no time to ponder it as she continued, “Today, I thought I’d start off with a reading from a book I found on the floor of my apartment when I moved in,” her voice sounded like honey to him, sweet and slow, not filled with fear, or begging or bragging, not like everything else he had heard since his return. He liked his music, it was distracting, powerful, strong, heavy, just like him; he liked this too, soft and unburdened, free and just… there.

Unfortunately, he had managed to tune out her exert reading while musing over the drastic but welcomed change of pace her voice provided, he didn’t even catch the book before she was moving on to something else, just as calm and relaxing, about as far away from demon slaying as you could get.

“So I decided to try baking cookies on my own for the first time today, they went pretty well unlike my souffle,,, again.” He let out a soft chuckle at her mild annoyance over a souffle of all things (little did he know that one chortle made his watching AI friend choke on his code). “So you’ll need to mix all that up in a big bowl before taking a spoon and putting big dollop onto the baking tray, don’t forget to preheat the oven!” she added, it seemed like he’d zoned out a little and he chastised himself, he didn’t want to miss a word of her voice.

“Also make sure to leave space between them, they’ll spread a bit in the oven, and you don’t really want them sticking together. Well they still taste just as good, its just harder to eat them,” she rambled on a little, “but yeah, my souffles always seem to flop and I just can’t work out why! I’ve made them fresh everyday this week. Trying to make them like my mother used to make them when I was little, I’ve not seen her in years, but I still remember the taste of her beautiful souffles.” It sounded like she was softly smiling on the other end, and for once in his life the Doom Slayer himself wanted to see it, to see her smile. The thought took him by surprise. He hadn’t wanted contact with another being other than that of a demon’s head beneath his boot in years. Vega was an exception, of course.

She spoke on, and on, about everything and nothing all at once. It was such a different experience for him, overwhelming in how gentle it was. He slid down the back of the massive shower, easily accommodating his size and them some, sitting, knees to his chest with the soap once meant for his blood matted locks of hair long forgotten and making its way down the drain. This was not something that the single most powerful being in the world was used to. And Vega was pretty sure he’d fried a dozen circuits.

“Now for the weather:”

His head perked up during the pause, hearing her silky voice describing even a hellish landscape would be divine. But… what if she liked it? The sky, the weather never changed anymore, day or night, just the murky smog and crimson sky, how could she describe it everyday? A new way to praise her _wonderful_ overlords each day? Was she a piece of propaganda? What if she was one of those crazy cultists who loved watching the sky burn a blood red? No, no, surely not, not her – His racing thoughts were abruptly cut off by music, music for the weather? It was a tune he vaguely remembered, and she hummed along. An old song, “Sweet Caroline, dum dum dum…”

He calmed again. Vega had said she’d never even once mentioned demons or hell, were all these pre-recorded? All set off to air at an unfortunate time, or maybe the right time, maybe when all of humanity, good or bad, needed it most? Vega was oddly silent considering what his physical reactions must have been to that (little did he know that Vega was using up about ~666 supercomputers trying to process what had just happened, how the seemingly ineffable Doom Slayer had reacted to her, and has no current capacity to talk regardless), but he had also said she was a well debated mystery, he wondered what other people thought of it, if he was reacting like this.

Oh god. It’s like highschool all over again, I’ve heard literally less than an hour of her voice, even if it is sweeter than honey, and not even seen her face and yet – I’m infatuated already.

A few minutes go by, “Hey Vega,” the Doom Slayer grunted out.

A weak, “Yes, sir?” replied.

“Can you add some of those episodes onto my computer?” he asked, hoping for more, “and maybe onto my helmet too?”

God, listening to those in battle might be the cause of death for him, he'd been so distracted that even a minor demon might have been able to take him. Then again maybe not, his ability to kill demons practically in his sleep might come in handy sooner rather than later.

If you were there, and you were to listen very, very carefully you might hear the faint crackling of motherboards frying. Poor, poor Vega.

* * *

It had just been the first year anniversary of your humble little radio station, and you were very blissfully unaware of the absolute chaos you had caused with it throughout the Universe. Earth, Mars, Heaven, Hell? You hit them all, baby! It was both a shame and a blessing that you had no idea if anyone could even hear you from the wasteland outside. It did put you down sometimes. Were you the last? Was it truly to no one that you broadcasted, except the demons that unknowingly kept you captive?

It was these thoughts that kept you captive this morning, and with a burnt porridge breakfast washed down with watery tea and the slick sound of silence as your trusty Walkman recharged, you were not very happy. If you strained your ears you could hear the alarms on the lower levels and the demons above. You were not a happy bunny.

It really, utterly felt like absolutely nothing would go right today, and considering that fact that you could do so with no repercussions, you felt like just getting into bed and letting today melt away until you went to broadcast. But that when the next disaster of the day struck. Your star projector was being annoying, seemingly not wanting to co-operate with you either and the part that you’d tried to attach and had to remove again literally detonated beneath you.

Miraculously, the projector itself hadn’t sustained a lick of damage, but the same could not be said for your legs. Shrapnel was embedded up and down the front of your legs, right up until your midthigh. Ugghh. This was going to be an absolute pain, not only were the shards painful and bleeding fairly heavily already, with beads dripping down and little rivulets forming already, but being by alone meant doing all your first aid alone too.

Luckily you weren’t stupid, and having a few previously repeated incidents like this had caused you to spread the many first aid kits provided on the floors you stuck to around easily accessible places in case of emergencies like this, where you probably couldn’t walk very far for long. Another sucky thing about doing first aid on yourself was that on worse injuries, you had to either embrace the pain in order to patch yourself up without being dozy from drugs, and the other was that you actually had to _do the first aid_. And this was an excellent example. Not life threatening, but made it hard to walk, larger surface area to bandage up, and while there was bigger shrapnel you needed to yank out of yourself, there were also hundreds of tiny shards that you just knew were going to be an arse. Time consuming, painful, not something you could do on the miscellaneous painkillers provided. That was another thing you slandered to yourself, complaining being a good way to keep your mind off the pain while you started work on the first leg. Sure there were plenty of supplies, but only half were named, and they were things that didn’t really need explanations, like bandages or whatever, and the other half just had a few indecipherable letters and numbers. Presumably, they were in relation to something, medication type and dose probably. Also presumably, they were expecting to have a medic or two living down here when whoever was meant to be here in case of disaster came. Medics whose bones littered the upper floors and courtyard outside.

Your guilt had subsided over the years, you were lucky, simple as that. Whatever had become of your family had already happened, and there was no way of helping them now. This was what you had, and you’d make do. You’ve always made done before in your life, with jobs at McDonalds, shitty managers, little to no funding for any artwork, mostly your life was average and make-do. Nothing to write home about. Kind of ironic considering what you do for human contact and in order to stop you from going insane – host a radio show about your average life and day to day activities. Huh. Wait – the show! What time? – 5:07?? Oh no.

Forgetting that one of your legs was still messed up, you began to dash over to your desk, only to hobble a few steps later as reality set in and a spurt of blood that came from the sudden movement almost made you slip on the linoleum flooring. No matter what, however, you were going to start streaming, **right now**. You had pulled yourself over, pushing through pain and gasping a little. Quickly flicking switches remembering that this was the second time ever you had been late, once being a week in when you had a ‘cooking accident’. Still a little new to cooking you had attempted a fancy dish with wine to flavour, only you could have sworn the alcohol burnt off in cooking. Well whatever you had done wrong (you had most definitely not cooked it long enough, and the orange chicken you made ended up as more of a mulled wine chicken – that you had found so delicious that you’d had third helpings and drunk most of the excess sauce afterwards…), and it had made you sleep almost the whole day and then wake up with a nasty hangover that made you 20 minutes late. After a staunch apology, you had never been late again.

So even 7 minutes after an injury made you stress out, big time. The speaker gave a little crackle, letting you know you had started to air as you began

“So sorry everyone -”

* * *

Both Vega and Doomguy had recovered from what was deemed the ‘shower episode’, and after his first meal back from both his extended stay in a cramped sarcophagus, and Hell, quickly retired to bed. While he technically didn’t need to eat, he had enjoyed doing so, reminiscing back to his time as a boy on Earth; nor did he need sleep, but bed is comfy, even demons know that.

Vega had organised his meal, but did not sleep himself, he had no need either, and no motivation, what good would shutting himself off do anyway? Especially now he had research to do in order to kick demon ass, and he had lost precious computing time during his prior meltdown. Thankfully he had calibrated himself for further reactions like this – although he still hadn’t processed the actual event itself, and maybe, he thought, he shouldn’t.

As he scheduled the Doomslayer’s next day, obtaining a sentinel locator and maybe taking out a few minor gore nests along the way was crucial if they wanted to kill all the Hell priest and stop the demonic takeover, he thought to himself. Maybe he should leave an hour at 5pm free? Just for… recreational purposes?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That shower might end up being used for something a little more creative later down the line ;)


	4. Mass Panic

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A seven minutes late to a stream might be no massive problem in a preapocalyptic world, but for Hell on Earth (and maybe even Mars)? Uh oh.

Vega told the Doom Slayer of his idea the next morning over coffee and breakfast, “As I scheduled your day, I thought to include an addition that would require your permission, Sir”

Vega paused as Doomguy pondered. His permission? That was odd. Vega was brilliant in that he knew exactly what he wanted, other than the occasional input into what he wanted food wise, or if he wanted food, which was of course, demons to slay; preferably 24/7. He was a very straight forward man. A quiet grunt of question served as his answer.

Used to such antics from the stoic man, he continued, “While you asked me to add more episodes of the girl from yesterday’s broadcast to your personal computer and armour headset, I have of course added the first ten for you to listen to, I wondered if you wanted me to leave an hour free for you to listen to today's live?” 

Oh. _Her._ Yesterday’s post demonic-ass kicking shower was an interesting event. One he was actually looking forward to having again. A shocking blush rose to his cheeks, making his whole face a stark cherry red. The feeling was foreign, something he would have done a lifetime ago, maybe when teased by his mother growing up on Earth. He had almost forgotten what it felt like. It surprised him a little that Vega was suggesting something like this, but a little break from slaughtering demons, _for her,_ might be nice, not for too long, he did have work to do. Men like him didn’t get breaks. But he could make this allowance.

His entire life had been systematically eroded from him since the cusp of adulthood. He had joined the space marine corps young, the promise of money and free healthcare on Earth after a shortish security stint on Mars for some research lab - and well that had ended in Hell. Quite literally. And after living through Hell (once again. surprisingly literal), he had somehow made his way to the Argentian homeland, how was a mystery even to him, and then fought his way into their army as per the traditional rights. Then fought through Hell again and into the top of their ranks. Then became the literal warrior king of said alien race, leader of the fight through, you guessed it, Hell, and of a civil war that started and ended by betrayal from the literal **gods,** who otherwise ruled over them **.** Then back to Earth. Again. To fight more Hell. Again. Now he was fighting Hell again after a forceful nap induced by a cranky robot who wanted Hell energy and his whole plan had unsurprisingly gone as it always would - to Hell. Literally and figuratively. So forgive him a little joy from the first actually totally normal human interaction he had experienced in _years_. 

“Thanks, Vega” 

“Of course, Sir” without pausing for breath, perks of being a robot, he continued, “you’ll have to make sure you're finished up by collecting the sentinel locator by 5pm, sharp. According to my databanks, she always starts at 5pm, and finishes exactly and hour later, with no variation.” There was a little white lie there, but Vega was sure it would be of no consequence.

The Doom Slayer sank a bit in his chair. Things all added up to the audio being prerecorded and set to broadcast later, if there were no mentions of the Hell now on Earth, and the weather they inevitably couldn't predict, both combined with a solidly set start time…

They were probably dead. Too soft for this harsh new world. That was good, perhaps, he had to admit to himself. He had seen the horrors brought here first-hand and walked through the Hell below. Lasting longer was more of a curse than dying early to the horde. He hoped they hadn't gotten her at least, that maybe it was something else, a natural disaster or accident or scuffle over looting resources. If she'd died that way, she'd probably be in heaven, there's no way an angel like that would go anywhere else. But if she'd died by their hand, torn apart limb from limb. It doesn't matter how good or evil you were. It would be a one way ticket straight down to hell. Your soul would become argent energy to fuel the corrupt Makyrs, and your body the very demons that plagued the Earth. Maybe he’d cut what was left of you down yesterday. Bullets plastering your brain, maybe a glory kill, absorbing your energy himself for health and ammo. The thought made him shiver.

.

The thought made him angry. Made him lust for more demon blood. More demon blood than there were demons, not enough could out balance the weight of their sins for her blood on their claws. He'd kill them all. He'd **rip and tear… until it was done.**

* * *

He gotten back early, a rarity. He'd normally saver kills, draw them out, make whatever was left of the bastards feel fear as he ripped them limb from limb himself in retaliation for the pain they had inflicted. He hadn't lingered with the last sentinel, the Betrayer, for the locator that was now safely in Vega’s possession, and the nests he had taken out were dealt with more hastily than you'd expect from the man whose immortality was fuelled by unadulterated bloodlust. Fated to never die because he was too angry to let go until every demon has perished by his hand, and as more kept dying by the minute, it wasn't like he was ever going to be in short supply. 

But it was only 4:17pm and she'd apparently never be late. Or early. Maybe he could question Vega on why she was a controversy, where the mystery came from while he waited. Was it from the broadcast origin? Why it had kept running, surely the demons would try take it down, they thrived off human pain and misery, and that didn't seem to radiate misery. More like hope. Or was it something more? The weather being a song?

So he did.

And Vega told him, “There are a few things that make it questionable in both origin and broadcast, by myself and what I have managed to obtain from others.” 

This piqued his interest; others were talking about her too? 

“She provides quite the mystery, she has put no name to voice to confirm or deny death where potentially possible, and she has also never talked about the current state of the outside world. She is consistent with timing, however there is one notable exception that causes controversy: Episode 8. She starts late. According to her, she attempted making a red wine sauce, and something had gone wrong to remove the alcohol in cooking, causing drunkenness, excessive sleep and a severe hangover.”

Wait, variation? It could be programmed in, but why? To what end? To make it seem more realistic? But who had the access and stability to do such things, cook and broadcast, in this new era, it just didn't add up. 

Luckily, his question was answered before he had to strain his barely used vocal cords to ask, “Another oddity is the origin of broadcast. There is no known origin. Not to me, the UAC, ARC or the Makyr herself, apparently”. 

WHAT?

“I tried finding the answer myself, and even ended up hacking multiple sources for more information while you were in stasis as a project of mine. A few months after she started broadcasting there was an organised search for demons to eradicate radio stations, emitters, everything. It was logical considering their effect alone has slowed the demonic possession of Earth by approximately 3%.”

A little human like her, slowing demonic consumption by words alone? If you'd told him a year ago he'd, well, he'd still be sleeping. But if you told him this time yesterday, he'd scoff. But now he understood. Hope can be powerful, the more people giving in without it, the stronger the forces of Hell became. And the stronger the forces became, the more people gave in, willingly or by force. Some everyday conversation and peace, even if it was for only an hour a day, could be life shattering in a world as broken as this one. Maybe it held those alone and isolated together just a day longer, or got people talking about something other than the impending doom they could do nothing to stop. But it was hope, and frankly he appreciated the significant drop in workload too.

But the inability by the Makyrs to find her, alive or not? Fascinating.

Vega spoke again, “ But the transmissions never stopped. The UAC tried to locate her both officially for propaganda purposes, and for entertainment and leisure for their bases I believe. She has become quite a sensation globally. Lack of available external media or otherwise, there were riots, and thus efforts made by Dr. Samuel Hayden himself to locate her. Since they were all unable, he had to completely reschedule the Mars working day for employees so they could listen to her live. Quite the unexplainable phenomenon. ARC has also tried to locate her with no success, for similar reasons.”

This was bizarre, even for him. For all these people to be looking, searching to seek or destroy, either way, lots of powerful people had looked and no one had found you. You had to be some kind of genius.

“Plenty of individuals have tried too, of course, none notable. There have also been many attempts to make contact via radiowaves on the same frequency, and other common channels, none of which have been responded to. The working theory is that the broadcast has been programmed to send out daily or is live and somehow been kept hidden and heavily encrypted, or one theory that may hold stock: the transmitter is actually broken. The patterns in the feedback and crackle could actually indicate a repair job done to a previously broken article, that sends the radio waves in such a way that no other could, accidentally making it the most encrypted and unlocatable device on the entire planet.”

Genius or accidental, he wondered which. A hope bloomed that she _could_ be alive. But that would also raise some questions he didn't want to answer. She couldn't be with the demons or working with them for protection at least, as she was actively working against their agenda. ARC probably didn't have her. If that many people liked her and her work that it was causing problems for Hayden himself, they would scream it to the high heavens in hope for more defectors and resources for the cause. UAC? Maybe not the organisation as a whole for similar reasons, but in Samuel himself there was a chance. 

Smart and resourceful enough to hide her, maybe not from Vega, though maybe he had really outdone himself in the Doom Slayer’s absence. Access to bunkers where she could be safely stashed, allowing for daily stability and access. Maybe he was keeping her from the rest if the UAC for more selfish purposes, he was the Earth’s biggest fan of complete control. It was possible… which just meant if he didn't find her first, he was going to wring the answers out of the tin can when he came round to dealing with the 10ft robot that had a giant rod up his shiny ass for no discernible reason but spite.

But he could also not. She could be alone, or dead. Dead. The thought of a dead human, the death of someone in the species he used to belong too (he wasn't sure where he belonged now, maybe Hell with the amount of time in his life he'd spent there - and wouldn't that be a laugh), but the species he was working so hard to protect, was always a sad one. But the feeling of her dead, when he barely knew her, already felt unacceptable, if maybe a little inevitable. For once, he wished Hayden had her, something he was beginning to desperately want. Another oddity for him. They just seemed to keep coming as of late, with one common denominator. She'd be safe and alive at least. He could get her, and he couldn't do that if she was dead. The thought of the voice dying out in her throat and a cold corpse made him rage. The bloodlust hackling in his throat. Another small horde of demons to tide over the rage he was feeling before she began to air? No, he couldn't chance it, couldn't miss it, not when it was only 30 minutes until 5.

Vega filled him in on a little more while he waited rather impatiently at his desk, fidgeting with some figurines while he listened. He wanted all the knowledge he could from Vega, to know more about how she'd baffled the world or things she'd done, but he also wanted to hear her voice, listen himself to the taped past recordings Vega stored. It was a situation that worked well but made him impatient nonetheless, but he doubted any answer would sedate him par her being in front of him right now, maybe sitting on the desk and idly chatting, filling the empty thrum of the ship with something personal and human. He didn't mind what you talked about in the indulgent daydream he allowed himself, he just wanted it. But for now he'd settle with waiting for your voice at the allotted time of 5pm and then some past records in his headset as he worked off a few demons nests near Belgium, but before then he could have Vega tell him a few more of the basics.

“There is another strange discrepancy that adds to the mystery. In one episode she begins to talk about soufflés for the first time. Not something unusual in and of itself, but about how she was attempting to recreate her mother's recipe from her childhood. She had attempted to do so every day that week with limited success.”

While he was interested in any snippet of her life, he failed to see how this held relevance. Maybe he would if he knew anything about cooking, whatsoever. While he wouldn't die if he couldn't eat, he would most certainly be unable to do so anyway without Vega’s assistance, considering he even managed to burn water once. Don't ask how – he doesn’t know, and neither do the Makyrs.

“Fresh eggs.” he explained, “While milk can be made the same from dehydrated powder with the addition of water, soufflés are one of the few recipes that require eggs that cannot have been freeze dried and rehydrated like approximately 99.9% all of Earth and Mars’ supplies by now. So she is either failing due to attempts with egg powder or confirmed to have been prerecorded.” he notes.

The hope in the Doom Slayer’s chest sinks a little.

* * *

It was time to properly explore the kitchen. While you had been able to make meals so far, it would be good to take full inventory of your supply, who knows what you might be able to create? There was also the absence of the one easy staple food in your life, it was vital to a load of recipes too!

Eggs.

Where were they? You assumed at first they'd be powdered, like a lot of non-canned perishables were, here. You’d learnt at school that for things like astronaut missions and survival bunkers lots of food like eggs and even ice cream was dehydrated in order to take up less space and make it last. But even with a lot more labelling than the medications you'd discovered (you presumed when not medical professionals and everything looked like the exact same size and type of powder more labelling was necessary lest you end up with pancakes topped with barbecue sauce or something equally as terrible), you couldn't find a _single damned egg_. Ughhh. And you'd been hoping to spend some of the endless days trapped here attempting to recreate your mother's recipe. But alas, hours went by, no eggs. Were the people who’d made this place godless heathens with a vengeance against eggs?? What had the beautiful eggs done to deserve this fate??

You had learnt mere hours later that they were no heathens. They were gods. Despite the increased storage space required, these egg loving fucks had taken up an entire massive freezer devoted to single pack eggs to be easily reheated. Score.

* * *

It was quiet in the fortress as 5pm rolled around. The radio channel had been tuned in at 4:55pm rather than later, just in case, which had caused Doomguy to silently curse Vega for the static that now consumed his brain, staring at the small clock in the corner of his screen. Vega had prepared his servers for a meltdown, still fragile from last night's events and preparing for the worst after the Slayer’s tense reaction to the simple switch in radio stations. Even the Ripatorium seemed quiet, demons trapped there as target practice holding their breath in a strained tension.

4:56

4:57

  
  
  


4:58

  
  
  
  
  
  
  


4:59

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


5:00.

No crackles signifying the start of a broadcast happened. Nothing. Silence. Makyrs, were you going to make him wait precious seconds while you started? did you start the second before 5:01? Still 5:00 but still so painfully far? He couldn't take this.

The minute rolled on, and Vega was sweating oil. This hadn't happened in just under a year! What was going on, and why today of all days? He knew it wasn't his fault but he prayed to the corrupted Makyrs you weren't dead, or that the broadcast was recorded and set to stop after a year, had he missed a clue that told him? In his panic he almost missed the gruff, deep voice that called out with indescribable emotion, 

“Vega?”

“Let me check the frequency”

He checked, he double checked, he triple checked, in fact he kept a constant looping background check and radio scanner to see if you'd changed frequency for some unknown reason, maybe a location change? 

Another minute rolled past. There was a groaning and the sound of the metal desk warping underneath the Hellwalker’s giant hand. Vega made a brief mental note to replace it. 

“Sorry, Sir. I've checked the entirety of Earth's current radio broadcasts, as well as those from Mars, this is apparently causing quite the stir on the UAC base there.

The next minute ticked on.

While causing Hayden any form of annoyance was a laugh for the formidable man, it wasn't when it came at this expense. Neither man nor robot moved.

“I can begin the second episode and keep a constant check while we wait if you -”

“No”

* * *

Quite unknowingly, y/n had become a migraine for Dr. Samuel Hayden over the course of your career.

At first he'd wanted you for him. A voice that dripped like honey, a way with words that many were sorely lacking these days (mostly due to the invasion of demons **he** had caused, however), and a following of people who loved and listened to you would make you a good propaganda piece. Dangerous in the wrong hands too. He had come to a lot of the same conclusions Vega had, but even with access to more databases, he’d found not even a name to work with, and he had as much luck as the rest of them finding you. A frustration for sure, but not a sour loss unless anyone else got you.

Then he'd wanted you for the UAC. More than propaganda, although that would be nice given your practically global and otherwise unexplainably enigmatic cult following, when he tried to move more scientists to the Mars base for safety and reproduction, they'd wanted to take you to safety too. You could continue to work happily there, and many were convinced you were alive. There had been lots of protest and small riots amongst some of his best people that he couldn't afford to lose over you. So he spent hours prowling the Earth for hair or hide of you. Nothing. Not a wisp. It was like you didn't exist. The way you evaded him physically, technologically, everything angered him to no end. **He wanted you** , like a child wanted a toy. It was only when he presented his work the Mars team that they'd conceded to go through the portal without you, even if they still sent daily transmissions and searched for you in their own time.

Now he wanted you more than anything else at that moment. More than the finished BFG-10000. More than the body of the Khan Makyr at his feet. People were literally rioting at his door on Mars. The whole base was in disarray at a five minute delay in your stream. _What had the world been reduced to, these were meant to be the best of what was left of Earth_. He shudders to think of the damage to Earth. One man on his Mars base had actually killed himself, your voice, if only briefly, now gone, taking the only thing driving him. He shuddered again at your power. If you spoke, they would listen. You might not have the processing power of him (well that was debatable given how you'd escaped from his grasp), but you spoke from human perspective at least, but Makyr above did you have power over the people. Possibly more than him.

* * *

5:06 

Vega was seriously thinking about just switching himself off soon and leaving the solar system too it. It seemed like everywhere was fucked, even him. You had grown on him in his study of you, and it would be a lie to say that his motherboards weren't a little concerned.

And Doomguy was just gone. He wasn't sure what was going on with his friend, nor that the sulking, hulking man in front of him could be properly described in this state.

5:07

* * *

Your voice began to crackle across the planets and satellites once more:

“Sorry!” you gasped, obviously pained, “I'm really sorry I'm late, oh god.”

You had no idea the collective sigh of relief that was just universally breathed.

“Ouch, sorry, once again sorry, I've just rushed to start, completely lost track of time, won't, youuchh,” you yelped in pain across the radio once more, causing international outcry, and another dent in Doomguy’s desk.

“Can't even have painkillers for ages yet,” you moaned, “I completely lost track of time, wait, let me start.”

It wasn't like anyone could tell you to wait anyway, so you continued, “Good evening everyone and welcome to RADIOHEAD, presented by me, myself and I! Today we're a little late, sorry, let me explain why,” you'd breathed out between sharp gasps of pain when and little yelps while you'd talked. 

“Remember that project? The spinning star projector? Well let me tell you, I'm not brilliant at engineering, the only experience I’ve gotten comes from soldering for an art exhibition. But I'm trying anyway, and I thought I'd got somewhere, I really did. But erm, apparently not. A part exploded by my legs, didn't hit the bulk of the machine though, which is good, it could have set me back weeks. And it shouldn't have even exploded!”

You'd moaned the last part, explaining how you'd tried to make it with what parts you had. A dozen experienced scientists and astronomers immediately banded together, starting drafting creation of something less dangerous, easier to make with your skill set and from the parts you described. They'd send it off to the team that tried to contact you in hopes you'd received them, but simply ignored them due to the docile nature of your broadcast, and that maybe you'd get their work. It was worth a shot.

You continued on today's rundown, “ So I ended up with hundreds of pieces of shrapnel, all over, big and tiny alike. It's not like I have anyone else to help me, so I managed to get a first aid kit and start plucking them out. Can't make myself drowsy with pain relief yet so I'm gritting my teeth and dealing with it. Got one leg done, but the other is still jam packed. Can't believe I almost forgot to stream even if I'm a little done in. I'll get a little more done during the weather,” she reassured.

While there was mass panic at her tardiness, people had wished now that she'd skip streaming for today, despite the pain it would cause. Her voice was audibly pained, and her injuries didn't sound fun in the slightest. A lot of people were feeling pretty guilty at this point, at what she'd given, even if it wasn't much compared to the demons outside, to broadcast. She still had metal in one leg!

“Anyway, that's that. And nothing else has gone well today either, just one of those day where I wish I taken my brain's advice to just stay in bed until I came to broadcast, it'd save me this trouble.”

* * *

She continued talking about her rotten day, but it was soothing, somehow. Sure the Hellwalker himself was pissed at your pain, wishing nothing more than to scoop you up, put you in the medpod with Vega to watch over your legs’ recovery, and then go back and punch the exploded remains of the part that had done this to you.

  
But you were alive at least, which was more that he was starting to believe, and despite all odds, it could still be a recording, he started to believe you were alive _now._ You seemed so alive, tangible, human, if a little fragile. Why would the recording be delayed if it was premade? You could wait and recover till the next day unless it was live. You could be wrong, but the hope burned again, and it was stronger.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm well over 10,000 words in now, with even more drafted despite only having been writing this for a few days (blame hyperfixation, not me), as well as time taken to plot, write, re-read and edit, a lot of work, many hours and very little sleep has gone into this  
> fic. I am well aware I have no beta, and that my work is probably shit, but the Kudos you guys have left me has really made my day <3 
> 
> That being said, I'd really love it if you left a comment, anon or not, even if its just a little ':)' or '<3'. They let me know (past the my two gorgeous bookmarkers so far - I love you guys btw) that there is an active audience that I should keep writing for, and that I shouldn't put my efforts into something else. That being said, if you want my efforts in something else - let me know! Down below preferably, or through my tumblr (link in profile). Whether it be one-shots or an entirely different story, maybe even adding in Dr. Hayden as a love interest in this? 
> 
> Anyway, I'm well aware this is dragging on, so I'll end this here. See ya tomorrow, folks (or today depending on how hard I procrastinate)!


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